


Teacher, General, Fiance, Whatever

by mocinno



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Ballroom Dancing, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, Nobility, Public Display of Affection, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 02:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20418083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mocinno/pseuds/mocinno
Summary: Byleth pretends to be engaged to Claude. What couldpossiblygo wrong?





	Teacher, General, Fiance, Whatever

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers for GD route. Plot happenings are vaguely mentioned.

“Hey.” Claude smiles in the frame of his general’s door. “Mind if I ask you a favor, my friend?”

Gratefully, she gathers her skirts to greet him. “Anything to get me out of this place.”

He laughs good-naturedly. “The maids like you here, though! And I’ve heard more than one house leader is ready to pounce on you.”

She folds her arms across her chest, letting the excess fabric drop to the floor. “I don’t care how well-liked I am. This place is too stuffy.”

“Ah, you got me there.” He throws his hands behind his head and enters the room with a lazy gait. “So, you might not like my favor.”

Byleth feels like a sinking rock. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me I need to go to some stuffy party now. This dress they’ve forced me into is more than enough.”

He keeps grinning, and she slaps her hand on her forehead. “It’s not that bad. Promise. All you gotta do is pretend to be my fiance.”

It takes some effort for her jaw to not drop to the floor. “Excuse me!? Claude, there is a war going on and you want me to be your fake fiance?!”

“Shh, not so loud. The Alliance nobles will hear you.”

“Claude, explain yourself, please, or the nobles will do more than hear me.”

“So,” he begins, maintaining a smarmy smile all the while, “one of the Alliance counts has a penchant for young love. Lord Burgundy.”

“The rude one in orange?”

“The very same. He’s been our biggest headache so far, but if we pretend to be engaged, we’re sure to win his favor.”

It was a good idea, Byleth had to admit. Burgundy was not one of the Roundtable nobles, but he had a formidable army that could be put to use. They could also use the angle of a couple tired of war for their propaganda. The more she thought about it, the more opportunities began to open.

(Only later would she consider the romantic implications, but by then it was too late to back out).

“You know, that might be a good idea. Do you have the details worked out yet— wait, no. Of course not, knowing you.”

He puts his hands up in mock offense. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Why does he like ‘young love’ anyway?”

“His daughter is engaged. It’s made his old heart soft, I suppose.” Halfway out the door, he calls, “I’ll see you soon, By!”

Her protests die in her throat as Claude skips away.

They wouldn’t be staying in Deirdru for much longer before they would return to the monastery. She had to wonder just how he would pull it off.

(It would be some time before she realized he said “By” not as in “goodbye” but as in “By_leth. _”)

* * *

Claude lied.

You won’t have to go to a party, he said. It’ll be fun, he said. Okay, okay, you might have to go to a party, but you definitely won’t have to wear a fancy dress, he said.

Well. Byleth would _ quite _ disagree, stuffed into an admittedly beautiful but terribly impractical strapless gray and pink dress, her hair yanked into a nightmare of braids and a bun by an overeager Hilda, ring-covered fingers opening and closing as she itched for a sword.

In fairness, Claude looked ready to keel over from the tightness of his cravat, his usual genial smile plastered thin.

Together they attend a ball held by Count Gloucester, because the man was nothing if not for frivolities in wartime, an event Claude planned to use to announce their “marriage.” 

Lord Burgundy stands a ways away, holding his daughter by the shoulder and giving her a hefty lecture. He still, Byleth noted, was not wearing burgundy, instead a gaudy vermillion.

“So,” she whispers, leaning into Claude’s shoulder, “when are we doing this?”

“Patience, grasshopper.” The urge to elbow him is difficult to resist. “We want to make a scene, but it needs to be subtle. Let’s get them wondering, and by the end of the night, they’ll be on the edge of their seats.”

She nodded approvingly. “I like it. So, _ Teach,_ how should we convince them?” He chuckles at the nickname. 

“Do whatever comes naturally, my friend. We need to sell this dynamic.”

“Well, I’m thirsty,” she says flatly, and begins to march towards a butler holding wine glasses.

As fate would have it, she wore heels that night, rather tall stilettos Hilda insisted on. Though she wore boots with heels into _ battle, _ the ballroom was another field entirely, a slippery one she was not skilled in.

She knows she’s falling before it happens.

Byleth grabs his sleeve in vain, her heels already sliding beneath her, and soon they are both flailing to the floor. In a stroke of dumb luck he manages to slip an arm around her waist and spin them around, so he lands on his backside with Byleth sitting pretty in his lap.

They’re still for a moment, stunned by the events, until a low wolf whistle snaps her awake, and she realizes she’s sitting on top of Claude, in a tangle of limbs and fabric, being stared at by a room of the Alliance’s most important nobles.

For his part, he has a glowing smile through his blush. In a low voice, he purrs, “is this you falling for me, Byleth?” A few ladies gasp in the background.

She grabs her skirts, stands, and holds a hand out to him. He takes it and rises, pulling her into his arms.

The nobles lose interest and resume their chattering; out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lord Burgundy give her an appraising look.

He leans towards her, his breath hot on her ear. “That was brilliant, my friend! You got the whole room’s attention with that little stunt. And zero warning either. _ Daring_!”

She pushes him away with a laugh. “All I did was slip. Don’t celebrate until Lord Burgundy is wrapped around your finger.”

A butler passes by and Claude deftly grabs two glasses. “Here’s your drink, by the way.” 

She takes it gratefully. The glass is cold in her bare hands.

He fingers his lapel awkwardly, focused more on the silky material than her. Words seem to be dancing on his tongue, but his lips stay sealed.

She drums the side of her wine absentmindedly.

“Professor, you look lovely!” Marianne approaches the two leaders with a warm smile. Hilda follows, looping an arm around Marianne’s waist.

“Doesn’t Mari look amazing, Professor? Oh, and you look great too. I did a good job, didn’t I?”

“It was _ your _ heels that made me slip.”

“Please. That will help with your little scheme, won’t it? You can say I helped.”

“Schemes?” He turns his head innocently. “Not me.”

“They know?” Byleth asks, lowering her voice.

“About your plan, yes,” Marianne chimes, “the whole house knows.”

Her eyes widen at that. “I wasn’t aware.”

Hilda’s eyebrows raise. “Why else is Count Gloucester holding a party so suddenly?”

“I assumed he’s always frivolous.”

“No, this is Lorenz’s influence. Anyway, Professor, they’re going to play a dancing song soon. You’ll join Hilda and I, right?”

“Yeah! It’s a slow, couple’s song. _ I _made sure of it.” Hilda flutters her fingers in goodbye as they walk away.

Byleth runs a hand over her moon-shaped earrings.

“I appreciate you telling the rest of the house. It would be… troublesome if they too believed our little charade.”

“Ah, yeah.” She follows his line of vision to Hilda, looking in their direction with a catty smile. She winks when she sees Byleth. “A-anyway,” he sips his drink, “how’s the wine?”

“I forgot it, actually.” It’s a smooth, chocolatey wine that goes down easily. “Good … Strong. Are you sure you’re old enough to drink this?”

He chokes slightly, disguising it as a clumsy cough. “Teach. I’m twenty-three. Five year slumber, remember?”

“Yes, yes,” she hums as she drinks, “but you still look so young.”

“If anyone looks young, it’s you, my friend. You look like you haven’t aged a day.”

“Perhaps I haven’t,” she replies with a wink, lifting her skirts playfully. “I do feel bad about abandoning you all for five years, however.”

“You didn’t have a choice in the matter.” His voice is firm, and he places a hand on her bare shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. Really.” There’s a weight to his voice letting her know he’s not putting on a show.

She tucks a loose hair back from his face. It was simply bothering her, but as she pulls her hand back, she feels the noble eyes on her every breath. “Thank you. It means a lot, to have you always standing by my side.” Her words ring true as his, though now there’s a drip of exaggeration as she puts on a show for the eager crowd.

A soft cello begins to play, the opening of the romantic song Hilda requested.

She takes their glasses and sets them aside on a nearby table.

Claude gives her an expression that’s probably supposed to be attractive, but it’s more of a childish attempt at a seductive simper and her cheeks redden from holding back her laughter. “My lady,” he declares, throwing a hand out, “would you give me this dance?”

She accepts his hand, and she leans back before he brings her close. Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder easily, like it’s instinct.

“Familiar, isn’t it?” He coos, one hand intertwined in hers, the other at her waist. “Just like the ball all those years ago.”

“Have your skills improved since then?”

“Yes, in fact. I’ve been forced into constant dances, despite the war. I’m proud to say I’m a treasure in any dance, whether a stuffy noble waltz or traditional Almyran jig.”

The violin and viola swell, and for a moment she only hears to the sweet music filling her ears, the finely tuned instruments deafening the cacophony of nobility. Claude looks genuinely happy, and when they meet eyes, his smile only widens. Some people danced, Marianne and Hilda included, while others were content to stay on the sidelines, watching the couples and drinking wine judgmentally. Lord Burgundy was among them, though he was focused on his daughter once more.

“I’m glad you were able to find happiness despite the war.” Her words taste sour. If only she’d be there.

She must have a sad expression, because he suddenly presses his forehead against hers, his bright verdant eyes staring straight through her. “It wasn’t the same without you.” He pulls back and twirls her; she spin-stumbles back into his arms with a chuckle. “I… really missed you, my friend.”

Byleth gives him a doubtful smile. Surely he was acting now, right? They’d been reunited for many moons, surely he’d have gotten all his pining out by now, yet there’s that unmistakable gravity that tells her it’s the truth.

Ignoring the heat at her cheeks, she mumbles, “Lord Burgundy has been watching us like a hawk, when his eyes aren’t on his daughter.”

“Next t’you,” he coughs, and like magic, Lord Burgundy steps in line beside them, dancing with his wife.

They exchange polite nods, and Lord Burgundy is on his way, his wife’s veil fluttering behind them.

“I wish _ I _had a veil,” Byleth mutters, half-joking, “but Hilda did a lovely job nonetheless.”

“Nah, I think a veil would’ve been too much. You already have all the glitter in your hair, and with the braids, and all those little amber stones, it would be overwhelming.” He gives her an appeasing look, eyes moving from her hair down to her bosom, and quickly looking away with a stifled cough. “You do look beautiful, though, Byleth. If I didn’t say that already.”

Her eyes widen and her lips part. That was the second time that night he said her name; the second time at all, actually. The first was mostly for show, so it was ignorable, but when said organically, her name on his lips puts a strange flutter in her stomach.

“Thank you.”

They fall into silence, the heart-wrenchingly slow waltz guiding their steps.

As the music fades, so does the magic, her heels pinching at her feet and her bodice sliding downwards.

She gives him a quick goodbye as she scurries to the powder room.

Someone is there already. Lord Burgundy’s daughter stands in front of a wide mirror, winking at herself as she brushes a powder onto her face.

“Hello,” she chirps, surprising Byleth, “you’re Byleth Eisner, correct?”

She places herself in front of the mirror and adjusts her dress as she speaks. “Yes. And you’re Lord Burgundy’s daughter.”

“Himalia Burgundy.” She says with a sigh, pressing a pink tint to her lips. “I’ll have another last name soon.”

“You don’t sound happy about your engagement.”

“I’m afraid my love’s worn out.”

Byleth tilts her head. She and Claude did a fair bit of research before leaving. “You and your fiance… Aren’t you childhood friends?”

“Mhmm. The spark is gone, though. We’re still friends, I assure you, but… I don’t see him that way, you know?”

She didn’t know but nodded anyway. “Why don’t you give him another chance?”

Himalia laughed, light and twinkly. “Neither of us want to. It’s my father who’s pushing the engagement on me.”

Byleth takes off her heels and jumps onto the sink counter, giving the girl an odd look all the while. “Then stop him.”

“Easier said than done!” She giggles, hopping next to Byleth. “I’ve tried countless times to tell him we don’t love each other, but he refuses.”

“Are you _ sure _ you don’t love him? Sometimes you can love without even realizing it.” For some reason, Claude floats into her mind, but she shakes the thought away.

“I’m certain.” 

“Then, fight your father tooth and nail. You shouldn’t be bound by his wishes. You’re free to love who you love, no matter what your parents say.”

Himalia smiles warmly. “Thank you for the advice. I think I’ll try talking to my father again.”

“If you need help, you can ask me. I think I’m technically the archbishop until we find Rhea, so my name should have some sway.”

“Certainly.” She slides off the sink and takes Byleth’s hand. “We should be heading back. Would you care to dance?”

“Sure.” Her heels never felt better.

They walk out together to a lighthearted tango, the ruffles of Himalia’s dress swaying as she dances. For a moment it’s only the two of them, dancing, Byleth occasionally picking Himalia up to swing her in the air.

The song ends with both ladies huffing, out of breath.

“You know how to-- _ wheeze-_\- how to tango, Byleth! It’s been a pleasure dancing with you.” 

“The very… the very same.” They lean against each other, laughing, when Claude walks up with a lazy smile.

“Hello, Lady Burgundy, Byleth.”

“Lady Burgundy is my mother,” Himalia chimes, “but it’s lovely to see you, Duke Riegan. I trust my father’s been helpful?”

“Of course.” His smile is an easy facade. “If I may steal my lady back from you…?”

“Oh, she’s yours?”

“Oh, I’m yours?” Byleth echoes with thin lips.

“You know it. But Lady Himalia, please keep quiet about it. Till the end of the night, at least.” He pulls Byleth into his chest, giving her a tender glimpse. “We have a _ special _ announcement.”

Himalia gives a knowing laugh. “Of course. I do wish to see you again, Byleth. I’ll invite you for tea soon.” As she walks away, ruffled skirts swishing, Byleth hears a quiet bumping sound.

No, more of a thump.

Ba-bump.

It’s coming from Claude’s chest, she realizes. Ba-bump.

“Claude?” He grunts. “What’s that sound coming from your chest?”

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. “D… do you mean my heartbeat, Teach?”

Her ears flush. “Perhaps.”

“Do you not know what that is, or…?”

“I-I know what a heartbeat is, Claude, I’m not _ daft. _ It's just… I’ve never heard it before. What with my own not… not doing _ that. _”

“I’m glad I’m your introduction.” His voice raises at the end of the sentence. Ba-hump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

“But… does it always beat this fast?”

He makes a guttural sound and his face turns bright red to the tips of his ears. “N-no. Anyway, uh, let’s go say hi to the Gloucesters!” His words crash together, and he drags them to Lorenz and his father, standing together elegantly and sipping wine with pompous grace.

“Duke Riegan! Good to see you.” Count Gloucester shakes Claude’s hand firmly.

“Are you to make your announcement soon, Claude?” Lorenz asks.

He looks around at the leery eyes of the other nobility. “I think so.”

Byleth smiles confidently. “I’m ready whenever you are. We’ve rehearsed this.”

Effortlessly, Lorenz takes him by the hand and drags him to the stage, empty of musicians. She takes her place next to Hilda with a nod.

“Pardon me, lovely guests of the Gloucester home,” he lilts, drawing the attention of the room, “it would seem Duke Riegan has an announcement.”

Ever the showman, Claude gives a sweeping bow to the nobles before he starts. “My news for you all is simple. I’m engaged.” On cue, Byleth steps forward onto the stage. She takes his hands to audible gasps in the crowd. “Our wedding will occur once we’ve put a stop to this god-forsaken war. Thank you.”

The room bursts into polite cheer as they walk down, nobles rushing to get their attention. She beelines straight to Hilda, joined by a jovial Holst.

“Congratulations, you two!” Hilda does a small clap and a curtsey.

Holst nods like a wise old man. “Although, I assumed you were already engaged. I suppose you wanted to make it official, eh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t hide it. Hilda’s given me all sorts of stories in her letters. ‘Claude’s doing the doe-eyes for the professor, again, mid-meeting, again.’ ‘Claude jumped in front of an arrow today. For the professor, of course.’”

“Uh, Holst-,” Claude starts. He shares a glance with Hilda when Holst carries on.

“ ‘I hear Claude stayed at our teacher’s bedside all day yesterday, all because she has a stomach bug.’ ‘Brother, you won’t _ believe _-‘”

“That’s enough, brother!” Hilda whines, pouting. “They don’t need to know. You’re _ embarrassing _ me.”

“Well, I’ll leave you alone, then. Ah, youth…” He mumbles blissfully, walking away.

Byleth tilts her head like a confused puppy. “None of those things are exclusive to engaged couples. I wonder what he meant.”

Claude and Hilda exchange a look, one she finds herself unable to translate.

Before she can ponder, Lysithea pushes through a sea of people and bounds up to her, dragging a shocked Himalia behind her.

“Here they are!” 

“Byleth!” Himalia takes her free hand. “I didn’t realize the announcement was an _ engagement _! I feel like I should take your advice in a new light,” she giggles, “Miss von Riegan!”

“Congratulations on getting through all these people, by the way.” 

“That was me.” Lysithea beams proudly. “I’ve never liked nobility, but it taught me how to weave around people like nothing else.”

“Gosh,” Hilda whispers to Claude, as Byleth chats with the two girls, “you’re quite the pimp tonight. You’ve got three beautiful ladies hanging off your arm.”

“You’re including yourself in that?”

“Oh, I’d _ never. _”

* * *

Byleth presses her cheek into a map of Fódlan on the cardinal room table. From what she could see she was somewhere in western Adrestia. Claude looks over it with eager but bedraggled eyes, brushing yet another loose strand from his face as he moves the pawns.

“Claude, my dear _ fiance,_ please go to bed already.”

“No, and you’re staying right there too until I figure out a way over these mountains. Oh! The woods here, of course, and if we use the road there, we can…”

“Claude. The monks will yell at us if we keep the candles burning.”

“I’m sure they’re already mad at me for setting the chapel banners on fire. Which wasn’t my fault, by the way, _their _banners got in the way of _my _flaming arrows.”

“And you want them madder?”

“Maybe so.” He pushes a pegasus statuette into her face. “Wake up, my friend. I hear footsteps.”

She rises, attempting in vain to brush at her wiry hair. Lord Burgundy enters the room, candle in hand. He leaves no time for greeting before he snarks. 

“Oh, are our leaders having a private getaway in our strategy room?” 

His voice is venomous, and Byleth bites back. “What are you trying to say, Lord Burgundy?”

She exchanges glances with Claude. Their engagement was supposed to make Lord Burgundy _ happier, _not _ even more annoying. _

“Our trite leaders are gallivanting in the dead of night as the war rages. Lovely. But, I came here not to scold you. I received a letter from my daughter. She has a request.

Call off your marriage.”

She nearly chokes on her spit from shock. Claude similarly gives him a blank stare. “Can you repeat that, Lord Burgundy?”

“Call off your engagement. Right away.” He folds his arms across his chest. “You’re to marry my daughter instead.”

They give Lord Burgundy slack jawed expressions, and he elaborates begrudgingly. “It’s not a problem, is it? Byleth claims she is… Lady Rhea’s successor, but even if that is to be believed, she is otherwise a commoner, correct? I’m certain you can find many more like her, Duke Riegan.”

She was stunned to silence. The Burgundy daughter wanted to marry _ her _ ? Claude’s scheme worked a bit _ too _ well, and in the glance they exchanged she said such with a doubtfully narrowed eye.

“Um.” Claude, speechless?

“Please give us some time to discuss the matter, Lord Burgundy.” She gives him a tight-lipped smile, and he leaves after a firm glare at Claude’s dumbfounded face.

“Good _ god_.” Claude shakes his head. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Himalia was such a sweet girl, though.” She sighs, head in her hand. “I don’t understand why she would do something so vicious.”

“There may be a misunderstanding, then. Lord Burgundy’s always been one to jump to conclusions.”

“I’ll write a letter to Himalia. Until then…” She rises from her chair. “I’m going to bed. You figured out your plan for tomorrow, right?”

“... Uh? Oh, yeah.” He rolls the map away and stretches. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“‘Course, ‘course.” She mumble-yawns, already halfway out the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Claude. Have a good night.”

She walks out with a wave. After he’s cleaned the cardinal room, a task that takes far longer than expected, he heads to his own room.

On his way to the second floor dormitory, he notices a dark heap laying outside a room. He walks tentatively closer, one hand on his sword’s hilt, only to see—

“Byleth?!” He runs over to her and checks for a pulse. After having a mini heart attack before remembering she’s never had a pulse, he presses a hand against her sternum, feeling it rise and fall with her breaths.

He chuckles nervously as he lifts her, bridal-style, with shaky hands. “It’s fine. Everything’s dandy, Teach.” Casually, he looks around the monastery for any moving shadows.

Nothing. 

Perhaps he was paranoid. The odds of an infiltrator trying to attack Byleth were slim. After all, if they wanted to kill or kidnap her, she’d be gone already. Her room is close enough he can come running if he must. 

He carries her to the edge of the walkway, kicking her door as quietly as possible.

It doesn’t budge. 

He sets her gently on the pavement and tries the handle. Locked tight.

“Damn it, Teach. Why do you have to be smart and lock your door at night?”

He kneels next to her for a moment, and after feeling creepy for sitting next to an unconscious body, lifts her again.

Where else would he put her?

There were many empty rooms, sure, but the locks were long gone, and Claude was on edge. 

His paranoia gets the better of him, and he carries her up the stairs to the second floor of the dorms. They’d decided to keep their rooms apart to “not distract from the war,” but surely it wouldn’t hurt to see her leave his room now and then. They were the Alliance's beautiful, war-torn couple, after all.

Silently cursing the room placements, he creeps past the rooms of the Golden Deer nobility as quietly as possible before shuffling into his own.

He curses himself, aloud this time, for never cleaning. His bed is more of a bookshelf than a pace to rest.

After resting her on the sleep-worthy part of his bed, he shuffles the books off onto any space he can find. 

After staring at her, fast asleep in uncomfortable armor, he makes a decision.

A firm rap on the door and three minutes later Marianne was shooing Claude out of his room to change Byleth into sleepwear.

“You can come in,” she whispers, and he reenters to Byleth already tucked into his bed. 

“I can’t thank you enough, Marianne. And you diagnosed her too?”

“Yes. I didn’t sense any internal or external injuries. I think she’s passed out from exhaustion.”

“That’s great. Thank you.”

“One question before I go.” 

“Fire away.”

“Why me? Surely Hilda would be better suited to something like this, and I know you’re capable of diagnoses.”

“Hilda’s a heavy sleeper, you’re not. And, yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, “I’m going to check her anyway as soon as you leave. But I figure, you’re here anyway, you may as well be my double check.”

She gives a small smile and hurried out of the room with a polite goodbye.

As soon as she’s gone he begins his own work, feeling her vitals for any oddities.

Whether good or bad, luck decided Byleth would still sleep long after Claude awoke from a very painful night on the floor.

With the help of a confused but lenient Ignatz, he picked open her door and when she woke, she was in her room, none the wiser.

* * *

> Dearest Byleth,
> 
> I must apologize for my father’s brutish conclusions. I wish no harm to you or your engagement, and I’ll be writing a separate letter to him right away. It seems he mistook my disdain for my own marriage as reason to disturb yours.
> 
> I’ve put in a good word about you as well. You’re certain to see some of our forces sent your way.
> 
> I’d like to remind you that our halls are open to you any time. When this dreadful war ends, we must have tea together.
> 
> Sincerely, Himalia Burgundy

“Thank god,” Byleth exhales, beginning to pen her own letter in return. 

“Hello, fiance!” A voice shouts, and she jumps, narrowly moving her ink bottle away from her paper.

“Claude! _ Please _ don’t startle me like that.” He only grins. “Himalia wrote back, by the way. She said Lord Burgundy will be sending troops soon. She’s also sorted out the engagement issue.”

“Excellent.”

“Anyway, about this fake engagement.” She turns her chair to face the bed. “Come in.” He swings onto her bed with a thump. “How are we going to end this charade?”

“Meaning?”

“I mean, Claude, how we’re to… to put this to an end, so that we might pursue other partners.”

“Ah.” He keeps his foxy smile, but there’s a dip to it, like he’s struggling to maintain it. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“_Y__ou _ didn’t think ahead?”

“Well,” Claude sighs dramatically, “we should wait till after the war, at least. We don’t want to cause unnecessary internal discord. After that, though? I haven’t the slightest idea.” He shrugs and leans against the wall.

The fact that it didn’t bother him bothers Byleth, more than she knows it should. Why was he so flippant about such an issue?

“Marriage isn’t this, this trifle thing, Claude,” she retorts, voice raising inadvertently. “I gave Himalia similar advice. It should be the person’s choice.” Anger burns in her throat.

“Hey, calm down,” he says breezily, “I’m not trying to imply that I'm going to _ trap _ you or anything.”

She purses her lips. “I know that much. But the idea of being stuck in a fake marriage is daunting.”

“Anyway, we need to keep it up at least till we defeat the Empire.”

Her silence feels like a weapon, a blade digging into Claude.

“Also, my parents invited us for tea.”

The silence breaks away. “Excuse me?”

“They were bound to find out eventually.”

“Are you sure it’s wise for us to leave?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “The preparations for Fort Merceus are going to take a while.”

She presses her chin to her palm. So far, she and Claude had managed to avoid the most awkward parts of their fake engagement. There were no public kisses or dramatic readings of love poems (that_ she _had to read, anyway), no “oh no, we have to share a bed!” moments; despite their luck, there was a fly in her ear, buzzing that some sad sap (herself) was going to be forced into an unexpected scenario straight out of a cheap romcom novella.

* * *

It was worse than she thought.

The dinner was pleasant, at least. Eveline was a proud yet overbearing mother, and she had Claude’s foxy eyes. Mert was a squarish man who nearly picked Byleth up with his handshake. Together they made for an odd duo; the lithe, conniving looking woman and the stocky and genuine man.

The meal was a unique blending of Almyra’s and Fódlan’s cooking styles, and paired with their excellent stories about Claude’s childhood, his parents made for good company. And wine. Far too much wine than was probably healthy, but it was good wine, and she had no right to protest.

It was the room which was bad. They lived in a large and quaint mansion with several guest rooms, but the obligations of engagement of course meant Byleth was forced to stay in the same room as Claude, with one bed.

“It’s one night, Byleth,” she grunts as she steps out of the bath, rubbing her towel over her tangled hair. “One night. I’m not some… I’m not some lovesick schoolgirl! And this engagement is fake, anyway!”

From the room, Claude calls, concerned. “Hey, By? You okay?”

“I’m fine.” There was that nickname again.

Why was the engagement so annoying? It was fine when he first proposed the idea, and it _ did _ bear fruit. Lord Burgundy had sent his troops as promised, and they were getting more donations by the day. The common people loved the sympathetic couple struggling to end the war together, apparently.

Recently, though, it only left a bitter taste in her mouth as Claude hugged her waist for the crowds and read out his speeches twinged with dramatic pining for her. 

It was all so _ fake. _

She’d assumed that the prospect of breaking it off would lighten her burdens, but when she’d discussed it with him, her chest only felt heavier.

As she slips into a nightgown, a pink trifle with a ruffled hem to her knees, she wiggles her feet in the plush yellow carpet. The house wasn’t bad. In fact, it was pleasant, once she got past her distaste for the fake marriage.

She walks into the bedroom yanking her brush through her hair and yawning. He’s already sitting on the edge of the bed, his noble clothes crumpled from the day.

“Your parents finally let you go.”

He rubs his eyes as he speaks. “Yeah. They held me up for a while. You’re done in the bath?”

She nods, sitting at the vanity and waving for Claude to enter the bathroom. He leaves and she looks at herself in the mirror.

Since when did she look so worn down? She simultaneously looked twenty-six and a thousand.

Scattered across the vanity are several hair ties, six different kinds of hair brushes and combs, and a small mountain of random bottles Byleth doesn’t recognize, as well as their wine glasses from earlier in the night.

She keeps brushing, pulling open a cabinet and finding a wall of various accessories, from pins and clips to dramatic butterfly shapes and an arched _ thing _she can’t even begin to comprehend. 

“Is digging through my things a hobby of yours?” From above, he grabs the snake ring she was playing with and sets it back, closing the door.

She spins around to a cocky Claude, wearing a silk pajama shirt and pants, “Claude” sewn in cursive on the button shirt.

She tries and fails to hide her laughter.

“What, the stitching? Yeah, it’s cheesy. But that’s what the maid laid out, and I can’t argue with her.”

She laughs fully at the idea of Claude yielding to his parent’s tiny, sub-five foot tall maid.

“Funny, I know, but that Kirumi’s not one to be messed with. She’s the scariest maid I’ve ever seen. You know my stories about my parents, but she’s even crazier. Half the time, I swear, she’d do nothing but smile at me and I’d be on the ground confessing my sins.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad!”

He sits on the edge of his bed. They were in for a long night. “It was that bad, By, I tell you.” He waves his hands ecstatically as he recounts story after story of Kirumi’s oddness, Mert and Eveline sometimes included. They sip at their glasses occasionally, the wine seemingly bottomless.

By the time his final story ends she’s wheezing for breath from the sheer shock of the anecdotes. Minute, polite Kirumi, chasing Eveline and Mert as they frolicked in their old wedding clothes, carrying a confused but excited Claude as she hunted his parents.

“That’s madness!” Byelth chokes out between quick breaths. “I can’t believe little Kirumi would do that!”

“She did, alright. Oh… it’s getting late, my friend. We ought to head to bed.”

Together they blow out the room’s candles, leaving only the moonlight streaming through the windows on each side of the bed as the only light.

He dives comfortably under the blankets on the left side.

For a moment she stands in the pale light, pondering her options. There was a love-seat, and though it was short and likely uncomfortable it would avoid her peril. He must have read her mind, because he calls with a smirk, “Hop in already, Byleth. I won’t do anything without your consent.”

The bed was surprisingly wide, wide enough they could make it through the night without any awkward touches. Definitely.

“Goodnight.”

“Night, Claude.”

She shifts deeper into the puff of sheets.

“Hey.”

“Mm?” Claude turns on his side to face her.

She keeps her eyes to the ceiling as she speaks. “Do you think this would be different if we were actually engaged?”

“Well,” he starts, and stops. “Well, yeah. We’d be cuddling or consummating by now.”

Her eyes flicker to him. “Would that be better, do you think?”

His eyes widen, and though it’s dark, she thinks there’s a reddish flush to his cheeks. “I can’t say.” Maybe it’s the wine. She knows her face is hot.

Maybe that was why she was so uncomfortable with the fake engagement anymore, because she wanted it to be a real engagement. The idea scares her.

“Is that what you want?”

The ceiling is an off-white color.

“I… I really don’t have an answer. Where are these questions coming from, anyway?”

“My mind.”

“Okay, Teach.” The nickname smarts. She sighs and scoots closer to him, enough that she can nestle her head into his neck. 

“Do you like me?” The question is uncharacteristically girlish, and she can feel her sober self screaming.

“Mhmm.” His hand finds hers under the covers, and they intertwine their fingers.

“Do you love me?”

She leans into his chest, and he brings his arm around her head.

In the quiet Byleth runs a finger over a button on his shirt, tracing his name in the stitching.

“I love you.” 

She smiles, satisfied, laying a kiss on his neck.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. “I’m glad.” 

“You really like my heartbeat.” He brushes at the strands of her hair. “You’re like a baby.”

He runs a finger under her chin, tilting her head up. His lips are feather soft against hers, barely more than a peck.

Ba-bump. “I love you, Claude.” 

Ba-_bump. _ Ba-_bump. _

“That’s the… fastest I’ve heard it. Goodn…”

“By? … She fell asleep mid-sentence. Heh. Goodnight, Byleth.”

When she wakes she’s nestled against Claude, their legs intertwined, loose strands of his hair tickling her nose.

“Morning, By.”

“Morning.” She turns, propping herself up on an elbow. “You look nice today.”

“Do I?” He squints at the sunlight. “What happened last night?”

“We drank too much.”

He blinks, once, twice. The realization hits him in the form of raised eyebrows and a bright pink face. He groans, smacking his forehead in the process.

“I realized why I was so upset with the fake engagement.”

“Hm?”

She sits up in the bed and stares at her fingers, ignoring how cold her legs suddenly feel.

“I wanted it to be real.”

Byleth keeps her eyes trained on her hands, gripping the sheet, focused firmly on the cottony material between her fingers and definitely not Claude’s tentative smile next to her.

“Byleth.” She twiddles her thumbs between the blankets. “I have a confession to make.”

He sits next to her, leaning forward onto his knees and propping his chin against his knuckles. “You remember my parents talking to me last night? They realized the engagement was fake.” He runs a hand through his hair with a laugh. “They also told me, ‘tell me how you really feel or I’ll smack you upside the head so hard you won’t be able to aim straight.’ That was my mother, by the way.”

He tilts his head under hers, virescent eyes peering into her own turquoise irises.

"So," she begins, drawing out each syllable, "to put it simply...?"

"In the middle of my fake engagement I realized I wanted a real engagement."

"Ah." She unclenches the sheet and looks him in the eyes. "I think the same thing happened to me."

He's at a loss for words then, his dazed smile filling the silence. The tension gets the better of her, and she cups his cheeks in her hands and kisses him. He tastes like wine and Almyran spices, of a home away from home.

"We should get up," she says, after a long moment, and as she slides out of bed, pink dress falling to her knees, she turns to Claude, still with his dopey smile and childish "Claude" pajamas.

"I love you." The bed creeks as he stands. "Hopefully this time I'll remember saying it." He walks behind her, resting his arms over her shoulders.

"I'm sure you will. If you don't, I'll remind you." She hums pleasantly as she pushes him off of her. "Now, we really need to get ready. Your parents will think oddly if we don't."

"You'll 'remind' me?"

Byleth gives him a deadpan expression. "Yes." He stares at her like a cat waiting to pounce. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she declares, each confession making his eyebrows raise. "I love you to the moon and back. I'd travel the world to find you."

"I'd wait five years for you to come back."

"Oh, shut up!" She elbows him with a laugh. "Get dressed, come on. We need to share the news." She walks to the closet, throwing open the grand doors and pushing through the hangers for her clothing.

"The news? Again?"

"Yes!" For a moment she fishes through her day clothes, finally finding a silver ring and presenting it to him. "We need to share the news of our second engagement, don't we?"

* * *

> Dearest Byleth,
> 
> Congratulations on your engagement, again! I still don't quite understand why you needed to announce it twice, but my sentiment remains. The description you sent of each other's rings was quite beautiful. I simply cannot wait for the wedding!
> 
> I am indeed free to visit on the day you specified. I'm greatly looking forward to seeing you and Duke Riegan again. You two make such a lovely pair. I'll be certain to bring my favorite tea blend for you to try.
> 
> My father finally agreed to call off my marriage. If it weren't for you I fear I may have been trapped in that engagement forever. I cannot thank you enough for your advice that night. I'll be sure to introduce you to my former fiance sometime-- he's quite the charmer, when it's not me he's charming!
> 
> I wish you the greatest luck in your recent endeavors. With the Emperor defeated, this brutal war is almost at its end. I believe in you and Duke Riegan, my friend!
> 
> Best wishes, Himalia Burgundy

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this came out as long as it did, but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless.
> 
> I know the final scene reads like they did the do, but they didn't. Just sayin'.
> 
> Bonus points if you know who Kirumi the maid is a reference to!


End file.
